Along time ago when I was a child we travelled all over the Churchill River. One time, in the spring, we saw a moose crossing the waters of a lake. Quickly my uncle grabbed a rope and lassoes that moose. But that moose scared me because he would swim close to where I was sitting in the canoe. Eventually my uncle killed that moose before I tipped the canoe from my attempts at getting away from it. I wonder who was more scared, me or the moose? I wonder if it was going to go see a female moose on the island where the young moose was born?